


I. Poisonous - Overdose on Good Intentions

by 56leon



Series: 2018 Inktober Prompts / Fictober Fills [1]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Fictober, Gen, I only had like three hours to write it, Inktober, Yandere, canon compliant up through Alfyn's CH3, closer to.......vigilantism?, it technically isn't even yandere, no actual depictions of violence, softcore yandere, this is very light considering what I wanted to go with but eh, yo seriously Alfyn is canon kinda fucked up tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 17:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16163633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/56leon/pseuds/56leon
Summary: Inktober/Fictober Day 1. Poisonous.After a battle in the Sunlands, Alfyn saves their attacker, and it seems as though nothing has really changed since his encounter with Miguel. However, there's a difference betweenthenandnow, and as Therion soon finds out, not everything about Alfyn is as naive as he may have assumed.





	I. Poisonous - Overdose on Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Practicing with Fictober, but using the prompts from Inktober because I live with a bunch of hecking artists. It's a life.
> 
> As always, all my stuff is/will be crossposted on [@Kirilisms](http://kirilisms.tumblr.com/), and hit me up on Twitter [@homosethsual](http://www.twitter.com/homosethsual) for all your shitposting needs.

## “The _DOSAGE_ makes it either a _REMEDY_ or a _POISON_.”

##                                                 -Paracelsus.

* * *

 

 “We can’t just _leave_ him there!” The protests come from the usual suspect, as Alfyn kneels next to the unconscious body that had previously, when it had still been conscious, attempted to stab Primrose in the face. It was a bad idea to try stabbing anybody in the group, and most highwaymen around the parts knew to steer clear, but he seemed new to the whole robbing schtick, and Prim had taken pity on him by only giving him a concussion and a light stab wound rather than _gouging out his heart._

That is the _only_ reason that they’re in this situation in the first place, and Therion almost wishes that she had killed the poor sucker instead of letting Alfyn take care of a potential murderer. Again. “I don’t get why we don’t just dump him off at Wellspring and be on our merry way,” he mutters under his breath, making sure the strongest of their group - Olberic and H’aanit - don’t accidentally drop him.

Alfyn doesn’t seem happy with the suggestion, and just frowns in response. “I wanna help him, Ther, especially since it’s our fault he got hurt. See, Prim had poison coatin’ her dagger, and if I just left it at that, he’d be dead by tonight. And, well, y’know! If I treat him for one thing, might as well fix everything up, right?”

Therion still isn’t convinced, but Alfyn’s always been one of the pushiest members of the group, and so he relents with little more than an irritated grumble. “Fine,” he concedes, but adds another comment quickly when he sees Alfyn’s face light up. He doesn’t like resigning himself to other’s wishes, much less so when they take joy in his obedience. “But he _better not_ be with us for too long, or I’m pulling the plug.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n Therion!”

* * *

 

When he regains consciousness, they learn that the bandit’s name is Adrien, and that he originally hailed from the Riverlands, but not much else. In all fairness, though, he remains holed up in the room that Alfyn had rented out for them, and with how much pain he seems to be enduring, there’s no time between the group’s training and Adrien’s fits to really get to know him. Maybe it’s all well and good, anyways, because Alfyn seems to have quite a bit on his plate. After even a week of treatment, Adrien seems to be faring no better- perhaps even worse, if the pale demeanor and shaking hands Therion notes whenever he’s in the room are any indication.

Therion waits a bit too long for his own liking before confronting Alfyn about their wannabe assassin sharing a room at the inn with him. It’s not like he can do much besides try and persuade him to leave Adrien here anyways, not when the rest of the group defers to his judgment more often than not. “It’s been almost two weeks, shouldn’t we leave him here and focus on our own problems?”

“No,” Alfyn replies, his voice serious. He always gets this way, and Therion shouldn’t expect anything less from him, but something still feels.....off. “I want to help him, Therion. I can’t rest without knowing he’ll be _okay_.”

Therion glances over at the patient in question, who looks like he’s an uncomfortable mix of pained and.........scared? Why he would be scared - of Therion, of Alfyn, or even of any of the others - Therion has no clue, considering they haven’t laid a finger on him. In fact, they’ve been more than hospitable, barring H’aanit and Olberic who have been keeping watch over him and Therion who has been trying to avoid him altogether. “Well I’m pretty sure he’ll be fine if he gets some rest and sees a _local_ doctor,” he insists. “Anyways, we still have a few stops to make- Tressa’s got business in Victor’s Hollow, and we’re looping back up to Stillsnow afterwards.”

Alfyn looks torn, glancing at Therion before finally turning his attention to Adrien. “Will you be okay here? I mean, you’re still not done with your medicine, but......”

“I’ll be fine,” Adrien reassures him, a bit too quickly as his eyes dart between Alfyn and Therion; the reaction sets alarms off in Therion’s mind, but he says nothing, only watching the interactions between the two in muted interest. “I-It just hurts a little, but it’s going away! I bet I’ll be right as rain by Wednesday! No problems, honest!”

Alfyn hesitates. “Well.....if you say so, buddy.” He looks over at Therion and nods. “I’ll get the town’s apothecary and talk to him about it, okay? Sorry for botherin’ you with my own stuff this whole time.”

“Sure. Just don’t make us wait too long.” He doesn’t say anything else, not because he doesn’t want to but because he doesn’t know what he would say. He gets the strange, uncomfortable feeling that he’s witnessed something he shouldn’t have- that Alfyn has made him privy to something he has no right to. Without another word, he sweeps out of the room, making a silent note to himself to find out what, exactly, Alfyn has hidden under his sleeve.

Because he may let the conversation drop for now, but he’d be damned if he doesn’t get to the bottom of things himself.

* * *

 

Several days later and several towns over, it’s almost midnight when Therion drops a satchel on Alfyn’s desk in their shared room, and he glances up in surprise. It’s filled with noxweed, which, as Therion has recently learned, is used to cure most poisons......and also contains the most potent toxins of all other plants found in Orsterra. “You were poisoning him.” It’s not a question, but a statement. His question comes after. “Why? What are you even _gaining_ out of this?”

“Well, I get to treat a patient, for one!” The cheerfulness in his voice still remains, and it almost makes Therion flinch. Even hardened criminals are known to melt under the evidence of their crimes, but Alfyn takes it in stride. One such reason could be that he has just built up a poker face that strong, but he’s a country boy who’s lived a fairly comfortable life, not an urchin forced to lie and cheat for scraps off of a table. No, it just doesn’t seem likely to Therion that Alfyn is a criminal mastermind, which brings him to the second option, one that’s almost scarier to think about.

Alfyn doesn’t think he’s doing anything _wrong._

“I know,” he continues, “I got all.....really bad after that thing with Miguel, and....it still hurts. Trust me, it does.” Pain flashes across his face, as genuine as Therion has ever seen it, and he knows immediately that he isn’t lying. “It was my fault. But- but now, like I said, I’ve got experience, right? And I know how to deal with bandits an’ stuff, so I can get ‘em to actually change their ways. Sure, it might _look_ bad, but it’s like an amputation, right? Lose a li’l bit, but it’s healthy in the long run. A physician makes a promise to do what’s best for his patients, after all.” The smile on his face has returned, and is still unwaveringly bright like before, which makes his words all the more unnerving. “Even if they don’t know what’s good for ‘em, _I_ do.”

Therion looks away from him, wondering if he had always been like this. Vanessa.....no, Vanessa had been underhanded, but nothing to _this_ extent. This is torture, psychological manipulation, and Alfyn of all people should be the one to recognize it. But, as much as Therion hates to admit it, he _hasn’t_ done anything wrong. Borderline illegal, yes, but it’s a line that he’s very cleverly refused to cross. Therion can’t call him out on anything....and even if he did, there’s nobody who would believe him over the nicest boy in the group.

He swallows lightly, hoping Alfyn doesn’t notice the modicum of fear lacing his scarf-shrouded expression. The only thing more threatening than a criminal who can’t be caught is one who can’t be charged at all. “Good job, Greengrass.” The words are out of his mouth even though his entire body yells at him to run away. He’s a _thief_ , after all, and despite the warm words and friendly smiles, Therion now knows of the undercurrent of treachery in Alfyn’s veins, and he doesn’t know if - _when_ \- it would eventually be turned on him. “You’re.....you’re doing good work.”

“Well shucks,” is his reply, bashful as he rubs the back of his neck. How much of it is genuine and how much of it is just a carefully constructed ploy, Therion can’t tell, but he sure as hell hopes it’s more the former than the latter. And he most _definitely_ hopes that it’s paranoia, and not common sense, that senses the threat that lays under Alfyn’s next words, coming out of that same sunshine expression and honey-rough voice that has injected him with gods-know-what a million times over since the start of their journey. “I sure hope so, buddy.”

* * *

 

It’s another town, another day, but the scenario is the same. Alfyn leans over a wounded man who seems to be having trouble remaining conscious, and Therion watches on as the rest of their party remains completely unaware as to the events that will soon transpire between the apothecary and his patient. It’s a song and dance that he’s finally learned the routine to and, while he’s still not comfortable with it - not in the slightest, if he has to be honest - he knows to keep his mouth shut and his nose in his own business. He’s relied on Alfyn’s concoctions too many times; he’s not too keen on meeting the day the panacea finally turns on him.

“He’s a _murderer,”_ one woman in the crowd around them cries, pointing a finger at the man laying on the ground, and Olberic has to stand in front of him and Alfyn to stop her from rushing at them. “He deserves to lay there and rot!”

It’s a sight all too familiar to the rest of the group, but there’s no hesitation from the resident healer. In fact, Alfyn just smiles at them. Therion knows exactly why, even before those scripted, reassuring words are out of Alfyn’s mouth. “Don’t worry, ma’am, It’ll be fine. _Everything_ will be fine.”

And, for whatever little it’s worth, he’s not lying. It may take a while, and there may be a long, _long_ struggle ahead of them, but his patient will be okay. Physically, mentally...... _morally_. He doesn’t let people die, and he sure as hell doesn’t let people kill with the life they’ve been given. After all........

“I’m an apocathery."


End file.
